Splinters
by purplebeards
Summary: A short Reid/Jackson story for Paranerdia, based on a prompt, drama and a little bit of sexual tension/what one might consider smut.


"You're an idiot, Reid. A damn fool. I mean, how stupid do you have to be-"

"I heard you the first time Jackson. I've never known you to be fond of giving lectures."

"Well I've had enough from you. What the hell did you think you'd accomplish coming out here anyway?!"

"A damn sight more than you could alone judging by the smell of whiskey on your breath."

"When do I _not_ smell of whiskey?! You can't hold that against me!"

Crouched behind a crate and bickering in a way that managed to encompass both schoolchildren and a married couple at the same time, Inspector Reid was nursing wounds to both his hand and ego with he endured Captain Jackson's flustering. He'd managed to get himself grazed by a bullet, although not actually pierced. Jackson seemed to think it was the end of the world, though.

"I told you I could handle this myself, Reid, Goddamnit. You've just made things more difficult."

"I'm bleeding a little bit, that is all. I assure you I've endured worse injuries. Now if you are quite done clucking like a panicked hen, we might actually make some progress here."

"They're gone. The moment they figured the police were here they high-tailed it. The shot was a distraction and you managed to get in the way of it."

Reid so very much wanted to hit Jackson, were it not for the injury on his good hand. So instead he reluctantly followed the American's cues to move along behind several crates and scout the area.

"Yeah, definitely none of them left. They probably won't use this dock for a long while now." Jackson mumbled to himself, wishing he had a cigarette to calm his nerves. He stood, walked out from behind the crate and almost immediately skidded and fell back as something heavy stuck him in the face. He landed ass-first on the cold ground, grunting in pain and kicking out at the shins of his attacker. Reid was up and wishing he had Bennet here, who was much more adept in his fighting.

Still, he did his best and grabbed a discarded piece of wood by his feet, swinging it hard until it collided with something yielding and organic – a person – who stumbled back with an angry roar. Reid followed and swung again, but missed and felt the same tool that had assaulted Jackson now collide with his gut, winding him hard enough to force the plank of wood from his sore hands. Jackson was on his feet again already though, and very quickly had their surprise attacker by the throat. He spat blood in the other man's face, lower jaw jutting forward.

"Y'made a big mistake, fella. Looks like it's only you left behind here." He hissed, fully intending to restrain the man and bring him back with him. Police work was hardly Jackson's main focus in life but when you'd caught someone there was no sense in not carrying it through all the way.

Unfortunately, the man had other ideas and at the risk of injury to his own throat he kicked out hard, hitting Jackson at the hip so hard he released his grip. The ground of the dock creaked with the pounding footsteps of their escaping assailant and Jackson stood breathless and shaking, spitting a curse as Reid got to his feet. He winced as he flexed his hands, splinters from the wood digging in.

"What's wrong now?" Jackson moaned, cocking his head. "Come on, let's get to the station. You may not wanna admit your injuries are bad but I wanna treat my nose properly."  
"Actually, I think I may need your help after all." Reid held his hands up, the tiny dark dots of wood just about visible to Jackson.

* * *

After half an hour in the dead room, it was safe to say that Reid had lost all humour.

"We lost a monumental opportunity to catch those fiends and did more damage to ourselves than to them." He grumbled, upper lip curling slightly as another splinter was pulled from his now red hands. He sat hunched over a small table; Jackson at the opposite side with a lamp lighting up his work.

"We? There's no 'we' in this Reid, everything would have gone fine if you hadn't shown up. Honestly, a cow could have snuck in there with more stealth than you. A big fat pregnant cow with a bell around her neck." There was jest in the American's voice now, although it did not evoke much humour in his superior. "Jesus man, we'll get 'em. They've gotta do business again soon and we'll find out where. Hold still, will you?" Jackson leaned forward as he worked a particularly tiny splinter out of the junction between Reid's palm and wrist. He scooted his chair over so as to see better, moving the lamp with him. "Wear gloves next time, yeah? May have only been a graze on your hand but it needed stitches."

"Jackson, must you really edge so close? I am capable of moving my arm further under the light if necessary." Reid grumbled, his voice monotone and eyes half-lidded in that usual attempt at neutrality that felt trademark for Edmund Reid now.  
"What, am I in your personal space, Reid?" Jackson sneered, yanking that damn splinter out and washing the tweezers off before going to the next one. "Well guess what friend, my work is my personal space. I didn't like you barging into that, but you did anyway. Don't complain when a man sits too close to you while he's doing you a favour either."

Jackson had half a mind to deliberately pinch Reid's palm but that felt just a bit too childish, so instead he just continued his work while Reid looked away in frustration. After two more splinters, Jackson's eyes were getting sore (it was, after all, two in the morning) and so he leaned in closer, squinting at the little sliver of wood taunting him. Reid flinched before he even had hold of it and the surgeon looked up with an eyebrow raised.

"You breathe incredibly hard." Reid snapped, and it took Jackson a moment to realise he meant that his face had been too close to his hand. Oh, that was too perfect.

"What are you, Reid, some delicate little lady who quivers when someone breathes down her neck?" he bit his lip to hold back a snort, but parted them to blow a gust of air against Reid's face tauntingly.

"Stop it and get on with this, I doubt you want to be here any more than I do."

"I dunno, Inspector. I don't often get time during my busy work day to really piss you off." Jackson leaned back in his seat, slouching down far enough that his knees brushed the other man's. "And you still haven't apologised for ruining what could have been a successful solo mission for me."

"There's nothing to apologise for; it would have gone even worse if it were you alone. You were so damn sure there was no one there and you got hit in the face."

"You put me off my game, is all." Jackson lazily yanked another splinter out and rubbed his thumb over both of Reid's palms, checking that they were all gone. Reid flinched again. "Still more in there? I can't feel 'em."

"No." Reid withdrew his hands but Jackson managed to catch one by the wrist and hold his superior in place, edging his seat closer even more.

"Little lady gets a shiver when her hands are touched, huh? You've been without Emily for too long, my friend." He slumped back again, further and further until his knee pressed against Reid's inner thigh. He felt resistance and released the other man's wrist, but for a moment Reid did not move.

"Did it ever occur to you that perhaps there was concern for your safety at those docks, and that I'd why I arrived?"

"Duh, when aren't I in a dangerous situation? You send me into most of 'em." Jackson pulled a cigarette from his waistcoat and lit it, staring at his friend through the lamp light. "Doesn't mean you had to come charging in. Not invading your personal space too much now am I?" he smirked, tapping his knee hard against the other man's thigh. Reid didn't reply, of course, but his eyes did not leave Jackson's. He pushed it further, slumped suddenly so his knee suddenly made a gentle collision with the other man's crotch. There was what must have been a full minute of silence between them both before Reid edge his chair back, folding his jacket over his arm and standing up. Jackson still smirked, having elicited the reaction he wanted even if Reid's face didn't show it.

"Thank you for removing those splinters, Captain Jackson. Get home and sleep; we'll need to begin tracking those men down again in the morning." He said with that same force neutrality. Jackson threw his own chair back, taking a puff of the cigarett before holding it out in a hand.

"You've got weird borders, Reid. You'll throw your body into battle but you turn to ice the moment its anywhere near another man's."

"Goodnight, Jackson."

Pouting, Jackson stood up and almost shouted in return.

"Yeah, goodnight!" was all he seemed to be able to manage though. Any smart retort was lost on him as he stood in the now empty dead room. He moved his hand down to his hip where a bruise was forming, brushing his thumb over the sore section of skin. With a shake of the head, he replaced the cigarette between his lips and lifted up the tray of tools he'd used, carrying them to the sink to be washed in the morning. Maybe it would be a good idea to get some sleep...


End file.
